


From the Ashes

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Series: OTP: You're the boss [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pre-Relationship, attempted self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9640982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Grace thought that with the breach sealed, she'd get to go home. Unfortunately for her, her work is only just beginning. She is named Inquisitor, much to her dismay. Bull steps in to do what he can and learns the hard way that Grace doesn't like goat's cheese.





	

Well, this place beat sleeping in the snow. Barely. The crumbling walls and overgrown courtyards reminded Varric of Darktown, only Skyhold smelt less of vomit and more of mould. Still, home was home and he’d make what he could of the place.

He ducked out of the way of a pair of soldiers maneuvering a plank into place. Construction had started almost as soon as the first group of refugees had stumbled across that way-too-high-up bridge. This lot were setting up scaffolding in a haphazard way against an external wall. Maker’s balls, the place needed fixing up but the way they went about it made Varric cringe. Or maybe it was because the workers ended up so high off the ground. Varric liked the ground. Solid, dependable ground. Like Hawke, really. Solid, dependable Hawke. Varric hoped his message would get to her in time. Corypheus? You gotta be kidding. When Varric had heard the name bandied about by the Seeker and Curly, his chest had tightened, heart stuttering. Despite being ass up in the snow, stuck in the middle of Maker knew where, he sent a runner out to hunt down Hawke. He just hoped she arrived in time. Be nice to see Rivani again, too.

He skipped up the steps and into the great hall, hoping to escape the chaos. No such luck. And the yelling only echoed in the massive space. All around, people carried boxes, scurrying from one place to another. How’d they’d managed to find so many boxes in such a short space of time was beyond him. He’d find no peace in here, so he went back outside and headed to the tavern. Nice place, all things considered. Might even find Tiny there, if he wasn’t already balls deep in the serving staff. That qunari… he wasn’t like any qunari Varric had ever met. Well, not the horned qunari, anyway. Tallis, he supposed she was qunari. Or viddathari, more accurately. Anyway, Tiny was a good guy to hang around with. Knew his gossip and was happy to share.

Varric shoved the door open and made his way inside. Pretty quiet, though the sun was still a way from passing the yard arm so, to be expected. Cabot served him a tankard of ale--better than the piss he got at the Hanged Man, must be that mountain air--and looked around. No Maryden either. Huh. How lonely a tavern was without music. And a sticky floor. He thought he heard the frustrated groan of a qunari upstairs, and that’s where he found Bull, hunched over the table, writing. And sighing.

“What’s got you, Tiny?” Varric asked, sitting himself down opposite.

Bull growled, screwed up his paper and threw it in the fire. He lay his hands on the table, set Varric with a stone stare.

“You’re a writer. Tell me. How do you account for all this crap. I mean, you can’t make this shit up. An old god who flies around on an arch demon, who’s been to the Golden City and wants to destroy the world?  How do I explain that to the big horns back home? They’re going to drag me back to the re-educators. I can feel it.”

Varric stared back. “Well, shit. You know, I don’t think anything other than the truth can be told. Even I can’t make this crap up.”

Bull picked his quill up again, dotted on the paper, thinking. Varric watched, drinking his ale. The guy certainly had a way about him, hiding in plain sight. Varric had to credit him that. He knew his shit too, though he kept his talents hidden under a carefully cultivated and deep layer of drinking, fighting, and fraternizing.

“Have you seen the Boss, lately?” Bull asked.

And that. He had a soft spot for the hero. Damsel in distress more like, but his care was as obvious as his size.

“She’s been ensconced with the advisors. Poor girl is probably bored to tears,” Varric replied.

Bull slammed his quill down. “Shall we go break her out, show her a good time? Perhaps it’s time we introduced her to Wicked Grace.”

Varric laughed. “The joke writes itself.”

The pair left the table and headed off in search of their erstwhile saviour.

*

Grace shifted, stepping back into the light pooling through the windows of the new war room, eager to soak up as much warmth as she could. All the fun of learning Wicked Grace yesterday had left her and now she was left with a headache from staring at the map and listening to the leaders drone on about supply chains and allies and agents. Why they needed her here for this, she didn’t know, but she felt it rude to try and excuse herself.

“Finally, the issue of leadership.” Josephine announced. The leaders’ backs straightened and Grace couldn’t help but do the same at Josephine’s grave tone. “We know who our threat is. We do not understand him, but we know what he is capable of. Our mission is clear. It is time we named our Inquisitor.”

“The Inquisition needs a leader. Someone who has already been leading it,” Cassandra said. She clasped her hands behind her back and looked very much the leader she’d been already. Well, that was simple.

She fixed Grace with a level stare. “You.”

Prickles of sweat broke out over Grace, her eyes wide. She can’t’ve heard right. “Sorry?”

“You, Lady Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, shall be our leader and guide. Our Inquisitor.”

Grace turned wide eyed from person to person, realisation dawning on her that they were serious. “No! I can’t! I have to go home. I sealed the breach, my work is done!” She turned to Leliana. “Leliana, please. Send a raven to Sebastian, tell him I’m coming home. He can send people if you can’t spare the troops.”

Leliana seemed to sink further under her cowl, shadow crossing her face. Grace turned to Cullen but his jaw was set, arms folded across his chest. Only Josephine looked sympathetic.

“My Lady Grace,” she started. “Nothing need change for you, only your title. With the breach sealed, word of the Inquisition's good work will spread throughout Thedas. We will continue to mentor you--”

“But the breach is _sealed_ ,” Grace cried. “What else is there to do?” Her voice wavered on the last line. Fear of never leaving, never seeing home again crept up her spine.

“The Elder One wants you dead.” Cassandra nearly spat the words.

Grace turned on her, body shaking. “He doesn’t want me! He just wants this, the anchor.” She thrust her palm in Cassandra's direction. “If he wants it so much then cut it off! Give him what he wants and we can all go home.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, jagged breaths catching in her throat. The four didn’t make a move, didn’t say a word. Her lip wobbled. “Fine. I’ll cut off my own hand and give it to him myself.” She slipped her knife from her side, gripping the hilt in her fist, slick from sweat.

Movement all at once, all rushing. Cullen grabbed her right hand with such force that she dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor, narrowly missing her feet, while Cassandra wrapped her arm around Grace’s torso, holding her firm against her armoured chest. Josephine’s usual bright eyes were wide, skin paled. Only Leliana didn’t look surprised. She stepped towards Grace, calculated, terrifying. She picked up the knife and slipped it back into its sheath on Grace’s side. Grace tried to wiggle away but Cassandra only tightened her grip.

“Listen to me very carefully, Grace. You may no longer be our prisoner, but you still bend to our will. Whether you like it or not, _you_ walked out of the conclave alive. _You_ have the mark that can seal rifts. _You_ are all that can save Thedas. _Only_ you. You are not who I would have chosen to lead us, but I cannot guess the Maker’s will. He has given you us, and we shall use you.”

Grace whimpered. She thought she might piss herself and did her best to hold it in. Cassandra didn’t relinquish her grip on Grace.

Leliana stepped back. “You may send all the ravens you want to Ostwick. Indeed, your name may be of some use. Talk to your brother, I shall not deny you that, I never have. Have him send your belongings to Skyhold, if you wish.” She gave a laugh. “He could come visit himself, if he so desired.”

Leliana directed her attention to the map rolled out on the table, ignoring Grace. Josephine and Cullen joined her, a little hesitant, striking up quiet, awkward conversation while Cassandra slowly loosened her hold on Grace.

Grace’s legs turned to jelly, her head light. She stumbled to the table, pressing her hands on the edge, allowing them to take her weight. Sick, choking nausea filled her throat, mouth dry, sticky. A prisoner in all but name.

Leliana spoke up like the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “Dorian tells us that during your future year, Empress Celene was murdered. Now that we know that, we can set agents around her to sniff out the plot and allow us to seize the moment when it comes.” She stabbed a dagger into the map, over a place in Orlais that Grace wasn’t familiar with. Grace jumped as the shock shot through the table. “In the meantime, we must build on our success at Haven. We shall have a ceremony formally announcing you as the Inquisitor, head of the Inquisition. Josephine will run through the details with you and we shall reconvene when you are deemed ready.”

Leliana glared one last time at Grace before stalking out.

Cullen let out a breath. “Well. Now that that’s done.” He left. Cassandra followed without saying a word.

Josephine crept up and laid a hand on Grace's shoulder. Grace flinched and the hand came down. “My dear Grace. I am so sorry. I know how much you miss your home.”

Grace didn’t want to hear it. She ducked out from beside Josephine and all but ran out, wiping away her tears and sniffing, slipping through the bustle of the hall and through the door to her chambers. She stumbled up the stairs, grazing her hand and knees on the stones as she fell. She didn’t try to hold in her cries of pain as she picked herself up and kept running. She jerked the door open, slammed it closed behind her, threw herself under the covers of her bed and cried loud, wailing hiccup sobs.

*

Cullen paced the grounds trying to look calm and not betray his stress. Though the yard was almost full, people still came in dribs and drabs, climbing low walls and trees, standing on carts--anything to get a view of the main keep and the stairs where the announcement would be made. Inquisition banners hung from the castle’s walls, scaffolding only removed that morning, new bricks gleaming where they’d been set in place. The speed at which Skyhold had been put back together was testament to the dedication and belief of all these people around him. Cullen couldn’t be more proud. He just hoped the one in the centre of it all would be up for the task.

The war horn sounded, drawing a hush from the crowd. Heads turned to the stairs, waiting, holding a collective breath.

Cassandra walked out first, back straight in her full armour, sword in place. The crowd cheered, her face implacable against the noise. Josephine sauntered out next, hands clasped behind her back. She smiled at the crowd, dipped her head in acknowledgement. It was her hard work that had lead to Skyhold becoming the Inquisition’s home and refuge in such a short space of time.

The Herald should come out at any moment. She should’ve walked out already. Cullen’s heart thudded and he hoped against all hope that she was just having an attack of nerves and hadn’t actually run off. Maybe her healer had to press some last minute ice to her eyes to remove the redness of her crying. She was not who he’d have chosen to lead the Inquisition. She had done well enough in Haven, but then they had been a small group facing an unknown enemy. She was needed for the rifts and the breach, but not much more. As the Inquisitor, she would have to step up and she would need all the help Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen could give. Maker, if only she could follow along.

As for leadership, Hawke was the obvious choice, but she’d disappeared after Kirkwall’s mess. The Hero of Ferelden was staying out of politics so there weren’t many options left. Cassandra and Leliana--both excellent candidates--but they had very different agendas and could only agree on _something_ needing to be done, but not agreeing on _how_ to fix the problem. So naturally, the one only who stepped out of the conclave alive, the one who could seal the rifts, the one with the mark, she became the beacon of hope, not just for those around him, but for Cullen himself.

After a long, restless pause, the Herald stepped out, hesitant, shoulders raised, brows drawn, fists balled at her sides. The eye of the Inquisition gleamed off the polished steel of her breastplate. Josephine nudged her forward so she stood on the edge of the stairs where everyone could see her. The crowd roared, cheered for their saviour. She looked terrified. And angry. Hopefully the crowd would interpret that as determination. At least she wasn’t crying. She cast her gaze around the crowd briefly, spotting someone towards the back. She focussed on whoever it was and didn’t look away, even as Leliana slunk out bearing the sword.

While a few hushed words were spoken on the stairs, Cullen took the moment to turn and crane to see who held the Herald’s attention. Even from Cullen’s spot near the front, the head and horns of the Iron Bull stood out at the back. He should’ve guessed. Whatever the qunari’s motivations were for being with the inquisition, and whatever information he was sending back home (Leliana assured Cullen he wasn’t comprising their work--and Cullen trusted her word), he certainly had an effect on Lady Trevelyan. Not to mention half the women in camp. And half the men...

Cassandra stepped forward, calling for quiet.

“Just as Andraste guided our saviour from the Fade, our Herald will guide us through the coming battles. She saved us from destruction at Haven and she will save us again. We all look to you, Herald of Andraste. Guide us with your wisdom and your light.”

The crowd roared, with Cullen’s voice the loudest. The speech was for the people, of course. To encourage and give hope. No one close to the Herald expected her to set the Inquisition’s agenda. Cullen smarted at the deception but he’d been around long enough to acknowledge that it was necessary.

Grace picked up the sword, looking down at it resting lengthwise on across her palms. Not too heavy, Cullen knew; they’d chosen one she could lift easily.

Cassandra called to Cullen. “Commander Cullen, have our people been told?”

He bellowed back, unsheathing his sword, holding it high in the air and taking in the crowd. “Yes! The people have been told.”

Grace thrust her sword to the sky as well, just like they’d practiced. The roar was deafening. A thrill ran through him at the devotion and dedication of those around him.

Cassandra called to the crowd. “Inquisitor. Wherever you lead us, we shall follow.”

The crowd roared again. When Cullen turned back, Grace had left, leaving just Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine on the steps, clapping and cheering. She’d not said a word. Fine. She’d done her job for today. She’d earned her privacy.

*

Once Grace had passed that big old ceremonial sword back to Leliana and had done an awkward bow to the crowd, she marched back into the keep. Bull read his cue and slipped away as well, making his way through the back doors and halls. He’d already memorised as many of the passages as possible but even now he noticed a door where he didn’t think he’d seen one before. This place was massive. And creepy. Kinda felt… alive somehow. But maybe that was just his overactive imagination.

By the time he’d wound his way through the castle and made it to the main hall, the party was in full swing, refugees and nobles and allies all rubbing shoulders and shouting and cheering, celebrating the naming of the Inquisitor, their new home and their hope for the coming battles. One couple danced on top of a table while someone, possibly Sera, was downing a bottle of wine in one go. Given that they’d all been here barely a week, Josephine--and the staff--had done a damn fine job of throwing such a lavish party. Bull snagged a glass of wine, then double backed and grabbed the whole bottle. He loaded up a plate with cheese and fruit, nodded to the guard on the tower door, and started up the stairs.

Josephine had assigned this whole damn tower as the Inquisitor’s and while it was a nod to Grace’s new title and status, the intention came across as isolating. At least, that’s how Bull saw it. Grace needed people. She needed company. Being shut away in a tower wasn’t going to do her any good. Wasn’t going to do Bull’s ankle any good either. He stopped a couple of times, rolling it out, ate some cheese, then kept going. A cat raced past him with something in its mouth. A mouse, perhaps. A present for the Inquisitor.

Bull pressed his ear to the door but couldn’t hear anything. He knocked and tried the handle. It opened and he pushed it forward. No creaks, no squeaks. Like the place had been well lived in all this time. Bull shuddered and promised himself not to think about that.

“Hey, Boss?” He caught the tail end of a sob. “Just me. Got you some cheese.”

The hiccup cries continued as he lumbered up the last set of stairs. He looked straight to her bed, expecting to see a lump under the blankets but her bed was still made. The rest of the room was stark in its emptiness.

He followed the sound of her cries to the balcony and found Grace hurling a fist-sized rock over the edge. She picked up another from a pile on the ground and threw that one too, and another, and another. Well, this big old castle certainly didn’t lack for rubble.

“Leliana,” she muttered as she threw. “Cullen. Cassandra. Josephine. Leliana. Cullen. Cassandra. Josephine.”

“Boss? Grace?” Bull stepped alongside her, close enough to grab her should she decide she’d be next.

“I’m throwing them all away!” she yelled. “Every one of them, over and over. And when they’re all gone, I’m going home!” She used both hands to pick up a bigger rock, straining as she lifted it, then yelled as she pushed it over the edge, “And _that_ one is that big fucking monster who gave me this mark.” The rock smashed against Skyhold’s wall as it fell, chunks chipping off and careening into space until there was nothing left. Then Grace started on the smaller rocks again, screaming _Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana_.

Bull’d been ready for a boneless sack leaking salty tears, not this wound up quivering rage. This was better. Venting all that anger was probably the best thing she could do so Bull didn’t stop her. There were only a few rocks left on the ground so he set down the wine and plate of food, picked up the remaining rocks and lined them along the balcony rail. He was tempted to throw one or two himself but this was Grace’s grief, not his. Each time she threw a rock, she stepped to the side, picking up the next. When she got to the end, she smashed her hand into the mound of feta on the plate Bull’d brought up and threw that, too.

“I hate goat’s cheese!” she screamed.

Only a few lumps made it into the air, the rest stuck to her hand like white pustules. Right. Noted. No more goat’s cheese. She shook her hand, spraying Bull with flecks of cheese. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. The situation had gone from bizarre to absurd.

Clearly pissed off that the cheese hadn’t taken its death in the same graceful arc as the rocks, Grace threw the wine bottle, only it slipped from her greasy hand and hit the wall behind her. Somehow, it stayed in one piece. She held her hand away from her body like it was diseased. Bull sensed his chance and closed his hand around her wrist. He wiped her palm against his trousers then worked the fabric around her fingers to get the cheese all off. Grace sobbed twisted to sag against him, pressing her wet snotty face against his chest. He let go of her wrist and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as she cried.

He didn’t envy Grace’s position at all and damn did he feel sorry for her having to deal with this crap when all she wanted from life was a house full of cats to look after. If this had happened under the qun--the magical hand crap, that is--she’ve been taken under the protection of the ariqun who would’ve taken care of the leadership. She’d’ve just been sent around to do the hand waving part. But this wasn’t the qun.

He stroked her hair, felt her still under him. Probably safe for him to talk now. “You did good out there.”

Grace pulled away and thumped Bull’s chest. “I did what I was told to do like the good dutiful daughter I am.” She spat the words like they were venom. Clearly not done with the rage, then. “I’ve done everything that’s been asked of me. I travelled across the sea and was sick the whole way. I attended the Conclave and lucky me, it blew up but I walked out! Cassandra told me seal a rift so I did. Solas told me seal an even bigger rift so I did that too. I traipsed across Ferelden and Orlais to find allies because I was told to. I killed people because I was told that it was either me or them. My life is more valuable than anyone else's because I have this mark, because I’m the only one who can save the world but when it came time to save the bloody world my life didn’t matter so long as it could be used to seal the breach. And then--that wasn’t enough! Then that monster came for me, _me_ , and Cullen-- _Cullen_ told me to--he left me out _there--_ ” She broke down, heaving wet sobs as she spat each word and beat her fists against Bull. “I’ve done everything they want from me but still they want more. I don’t have anything else to give.”

Bull picked her up, hitching her onto his hip like he would a toddler and carried her inside. She clung to his neck, head buried against his shoulder, weeping, empty. He set her on the couch in front of the fire and unlaced each boot, easing her feet out. As he worked her out of her jerkin he realised that the fancy Inquisition breastplate she’d been wearing at the announcement was gone. He hadn’t seen it when he’d come up, but it would be lying around somewhere, no doubt. Grace still wept and flopped like a newborn kitten so he picked her up back up and sat her on his lap. With one hand, he eased the band from her pony tail and ran his fingers though, shaking her hair free. As he teased the knots out he wondered whether he should say anything at all but the sobs stabbing the silence hurt him so he started talking.

“You might feel like you’re on your own but you’re not. I’m here, whatever you need. Dorian, too. He’s not bad for a Vint. He adores you. And you’ve got the Chargers, and Solas, Varric, Blackwall, Cassandra, Sera, that kid Cole. The advisors, too, even if they are a bunch of assholes. None of us expect you to save the world on your own. You may be the only one who can close rifts, and you may be the one that that Corypheus asshole wants, but he’s going to have to get through all of us before he can get to you.” He ran his hand down her arm and locked her hand in his. “Just, do me a favour and keep this hand attached to your arm. Lose that and you’ll only be able to stroke one cat at a time.” Yeah, he’d heard of what’d gone down in the war room.

Grace choked on a laugh. She glanced up at Bull for a second, her blue eyes all watery. She looked down again. “I don’t want to be their puppet.”

“Then don’t be.”

Grace sniffed, each word catching on a hiccup. “But I don’t know how. They just tell what to--”

Bull cupped her cheek in his hand and wiped her tears with his thumb.

“You can start by sticking up for yourself. Don’t let the advisors push you around or make decisions for you. You don’t understand what they’re asking of you? Make them explain it. They’re sending out declarations in your name? Read each one and sign them yourself. Ask Josephine to brief you on who she wants you to meet before you meet them. Push back when they push you. Make them respect you for who you are. You deserve their respect, Grace.”

“This sounds like a lot of work,” Grace mumbled.

“It is. But I’ll be here when you need to wind down or hit something.” He paused and Grace took a long shuddering breath. “Hey, you feeling better now?”

Grace nodded, though not convincingly.

Bull squeezed her. “You’re going to rise from the ashes, Grace. You’re going to come out the end of this stronger and smarter than you were before.”

Grace gave him a weak smile and slid off his lap. She wiped her face and let out a sigh. “I suppose I should be leader-y and attend this party that’s being thrown in my honour. I’d hate to be seen as ungracious.” She pulled her hair back and knotted it into a bun. She could do with washing her face but she had no water up here yet. He’d try and steer her past Stitches before rejoining the party.

He helped her lace her boots and straighten out her shirt. As Bull handed her back her jerkin, he remembered what was missing.

“Hey, so, what happened to your breastplate?” he asked.

“Oh. That. I threw it off the balcony. It was the first to go.”

Bull grinned and the grin turned into a laugh, deep from the belly. He clapped his hand around her shoulder as they headed towards the stairs. “Ah, Grace. You’re doing just fine. Really. Come on, let’s go get you the good cheese.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Bull doesn't mention Vivienne in his 'everyone has Grace' back' talk because in Grace's canon, Vivienne doesn't join the Inquisition until it is established in Skyhold.


End file.
